


It's (Not) Hope

by niente



Series: Dystopia [4]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1369996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niente/pseuds/niente
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Desmond 25th birthday and an unexpected package arrives for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's (Not) Hope

**Author's Note:**

> It's been eight months, which I am really sorry for that. I've been really busy with school and this story has just been stuck for a long time. I redirected this particular segment (initially it was very Shaun centric) and it almost has no point but I needed to get it out.

Their apartment is tiny with one bedroom and one bathroom. Shaun, living there first, has the bedroom. The main room, with three offshoots – being Shaun’s bedroom, the bathroom, and the hallway – has no walls and contains a kitchen in the corner next to the door. In an act of good grace, Shaun allowed Desmond to buy several dividers and potion off the space opposite the door. That was the end of Shaun’s charity, as Desmond was allowed no furniture in the corner other than a mattress, a small dresser, and a laundry hamper.

Desmond has the small window in his corner and when Shaun is in his room, the apartment was silent so Desmond could pretend that the small space is an actual room. Although, Desmond is use to living with less space as he Altaïr and Malik had to share a queen mattress in a room about that size for a month on a mission long ago.

He keeps his space neat and tidy, lest he incur the wrath of Shaun. Who has no actual idea of the boundary Desmond is trying to create with the dividers and brashly breaks into the space constantly.

Today, it’s the 13th of March. Today is Desmond’s birthday and the only thing Desmond wants is to be left alone in his faux room. His birthday reminds him too much of the happiness of childhood when his training was suspended and he could be a kid. His birthday reminds him of Lucy, of his parents, of Malik, and of Altaïr.

Unfortunately, Shaun never gets the memo or rather chooses to ignore it.

“Desmond!” Shaun calls, banging into the apartment.

Desmond groans and lifts his head from his pillow.

“That’s not a very nice greeting,” Shaun says, walking toward Desmond’s space.

Desmond sits up and glares at Shaun as he appears at the open end of the dividers.

“You’ve got a package,” Shaun tells him, waving a brown package in the air. “That’s all. But I guess if you’re going to be a grouch, I’ll just keep it for myself.”

“No one sends me mail,” Desmond says urgently. “It could be something dangerous, Shaun.”  
Shaun shrugs and shakes it by his ear.

“You’re not some criminal, Desmond. You’re a boring bartender. No one wants you dead. The Assassins and Templars have bigger fish to fry.”  
Desmond leaps up and snatches the package from Shaun, landing back on the mattress.

“Careful, you’re sounding like they actually do something important,” Desmond says. “Don’t want to be mistaken as a supporter of their asinine revolutions. Shaun Hastings: Anarchist Blogger Revealed!”

“I’m not an Anarchist,” Shaun snaps, insulted that Desmond would even think that of him. “I’m not against government, I’m just against the ideals that the Assassins and Templars uphold.”

Desmond scoffs and scoots backwards so his back his pressed against the wall. Shaun stands impatiently at the entrance of Desmond’s area.

“What?” Desmond says impatiently.

“Happy Birthday, Desmond.” Shaun says awkwardly after a few seconds before walking away.

“That’s it?” Desmond calls at him, hearing his roommate landing on the springy couch.

“Be happy I actually remembered your birthday. And I got your mail, be thankful. I thought about letting the mailman take it away. He was getting a little frustrated with the way it wasn’t getting picked up.”

Desmond listens to Shaun pick up his laptop, stick in his ear buds, and begin typing before he gives the package his full attention. With every alarm going off in his head, Desmond carefully settles the package in his lap. The printing is deliberately neat and tidy, so even if Desmond had paid attention in his graphology lessons, he wouldn’t be able to discover who sent the package.

The person who sent the package must know Desmond – Desmond doesn’t exist outside of a very small radius of people.

_D. Miles_

Desmond thanks his lucky stars whoever sent the package got he was in hiding. Even if they did discover him – but that’s something he’ll worry about later.  
He carefully pulls the brown packaging off. A manila envelope slips out onto of the shining gift-wrap. Memories bombard Desmond as he reaches towards the envelope with shaking hands. Long ago, he would receive assignments in envelopes like these. A photograph coordinates, maybe a list of people would be provided. It was, probably still is, a discreet process so just in case the envelope fell into the wrong hands they wouldn’t immediately be able to decipher what it meant.

Belatedly Desmond wonders if this was his chance at the redemption. The Assassins found him and are offering him his salvation. He’s unsure of what he’d do.  
Inside the envelope was a smaller envelope. White with words pressed into it. It’s a card from Hallmark. Again his name is written on the card, with a much more familiar script. The sender wasn’t trying to be discreet anymore. For a moment Desmond’s heart leaps as he thinks it might be Malik, reaching out to him.   
Shaking the stray through because Malik is far to busy dealing with Altaïr, Desmond slips his fingers under the flap and breaks the seal. The card inside is simple. Some balloons and a smiling cartoon. Happy Birthday! it announces in loud red. Desmond’s fingers are trembling as he opens the card.

* * *

_Desmond,_

  
_We’ve known of each other for a long time, through Malik. We even met a few times but I’m aware we’ve only really known each other for a short while and I know that birthday’s are something you’ve never really experienced. Malik once told me that I was lucky, compared to the other kids born into the order. I never really understood because I never really knew whom he meant. But he meant himself, Altaïr, and you. You three were being brutally trained and birthdays would only make you ‘soft.’ Being part of the order showed me that birthdays are nothing but another day. They mark the day you were born and that’s it. And for everyone that has passed, we are still struggling to unite the people._

_I don’t believe you’ve seen a lot of kindness in your days Desmond. So I hope that this marks the change. I hope that this is the first step in proving you are worth it._

  
_Kadar_

* * *

_Of course this was Kadar’s doing. Desmond scoffs darkly but still carefully sets the card on his windowsill. Desmond treasures birthday cards, as mementos of his friendships. He can count on one hand how many birthday cards he has gotten – although he’ll have to use another after this one._

Tossing the two envelopes to the side as well as the brown paper, Desmond carefully peels the gift-wrap off. It was slippery and cheap. He is tempted to slice it open, but realizing the time and effort Kadar had put into this – Desmond restrains himself.

(Maybe Kadar is starting to get to him? Or maybe Desmond just cares enough to not crush a young hopeful so quickly.)

The removal of the gift-wrap reveals the final layer – a cardboard box. For this, Desmond does snatch his small pocketknife, located under his pillow, and slices through the packing tape. He pries open the boxes and freezes when his fingers brush against a soft fabric.

His shoves his hands in the box and yanks out the off white hoodie – the sign of a true agent of the Assassins. It fans in front of his face as he hangs it front of himself. He sees a young, idealistic revolutionary standing out in the stark of the night eager to change the world and willing to die for it. Desmond roughly unzips the sweater and grabs the tag.

_Property of DM_

It’s the original one. The one Desmond left behind with the rest of his things. It had been the hardest thing to leave behind. Since receiving it at 15, the sweater had become one with Desmond’s body. He had never taken it off, unless someone forced it off his body. It held him together, kept him close, and warm. It was the safety blanket he had never been allowed as a child.

Desmond had used shaky and bloodied hands to remove it. He still remembers the chill upon his bare arms, causing the goose bumps to cover the newly exposed surfaces. His neck felt vulnerable, no longer ensconced by the thick hood. Desmond was naked without that hood. He folded it up, placed it on his cot, and walked out of his room trying his best not to give in and take it with him. Now the sweater is back in his hands.

He bunches the sweater and brings it to his face to inhale the familiar scent. It still carries faint traces of Malik’s office, of Lucy, and of cold nights sitting high up in the city with Altaïr.

He collects the wrapping paper and envelopes, shoving them in the box before slipping the sweater on and taking the box to the garbage in the kitchen. The sweater has a magical effect on him and Desmond feels more confident.

It’s only once he’s disposed of the garbage that Desmond realizes that the Shaun’s typing has ceased and he’s watching Desmond. Shaun is watching him with a bemused look and an eyebrow raised.

“What?” Desmond snapped.

“I knew it,” Shaun whispers.

“Knew what?” Desmond asks, dread coiling in his stomach.

“You’re one of them, an Assassin, a revolutionary, an idealist. You aren’t some cynic! You have hopes and dreams!” Shaun exclaims.

Desmond rips the sweater off as if he’s been burned and darts forward to pin Shaun on the couch.

“I am not an Assassin. I once was, but no longer. Their cause is empty,” Desmond growls. “I’m a person who had hopes and dreams that were robbed by the Assassins and their forsaken cause. Don’t you ever confuse me for one, again.”

Shaun makes a strangled sound but dares not move against Desmond who gives Shaun one last hard shove against the shove and then storms back to his sweater.

Scooping it up carefully, Desmond glare at Shaun before slipping out of the apartment to find a bar and drink away the rest of his birthday. As he leaves, Desmond slips the hoodie back on, allowing the familiar warmth to hold him for just a while, and tugs the hood to obscure his face.

However, to get to his preferred bar, Desmond must walk through a certain street corner. He doesn’t think about it much with his bowed kicking the small pebbles with his beaten up sneakers. It comes to head when he bumps into a woman in a power suit. She has her head buried in her phone and is dressed fashionably. Desmond staggers back, the hood falling from his face.

The woman smartly holds her balance in her heels and scowls at him.

“Watch it,” she snarls before marching off, her heels dangerously clicking on the pavement.

“You watch it!” Kadar calls appearing from nowhere. “You okay?”

“I’ve been better,” Desmond murmurs, fiddling with his hood.

“Looking snazzy and proper,” Kadar smiles.

“Where did you find it?”

“I stole it from Malik’s office a few months ago,” Kadar coughs awkwardly. “Before I ran away to come look for you.”

“Malik kept it?” Desmond asks, slightly alarmed.

“Uh yeah,” Kadar says, smile fading. “He kept anything he thought you might want when you came back.”

“He said when, didn’t he?” Desmond sighs. “I should go see him or something.”

Kadar scowls. Desmond is unsure what Kadar and Malik’s relationship is. The Kadar he knew before he left was admired Malik but this Kadar seems to have a disdain for his older brother.

“So if you ran away what are you doing on this street corner?” Desmond asks, changing the subject even though he knows that the topic isn’t done.

“I still want to spread the word, even if I’m temporarily M.I.A.,” Kadar says as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “People need to know, Desmond.”  
Desmond shrugs.

“Most people don’t care, Kadar. Most people just don’t care,” Desmond says.

“And yet they look at you like a ray of hope,” Kadar counters. “I watched you coming down the streets and the people who look at you with a smile on their faces. They know what that hoodie and colour represent: hope. And even if you aren’t part of the Assassins, you are still representing them. Kids buy these hoodies all the time because they want to show support.”

“I’m not wearing this sweater because I have hope, Kadar,” Desmond snaps. “I’m wearing it because it makes me happy. I feel safe. It smells like Malik’s office and of Lucy. It has nothing to do with hope.”

Kadar still smiles at him blindingly.

“Okay, Desmond,” Kadar says.

“I should let you get back to word. Spreading the ‘good word’ and all,” Desmond mumbles after a short while. “Thanks for the gift. I appreciate it.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Kadar replies. “I’ll see you around, Desmond.”

“Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> As usual: check me out on tumblr. I'm isaaclehigh for my writing stuff. There's a special page under the writing tab with collected info for this au plus some more stuff! I've updated to include Shaun so you should definitely check it out to learn more about Shaun in this au.


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